There is a deep space
In the corners of our minds,
Where our hearts dwell,
Solemnly, and in silence.
Patiently, the stillness draws closer,
The feeling recedes,
As all awareness is numbed.

The quietness takes hold,
We are asleep
And alone,
All on our own;
And we meet ourselves,
See what we've never known--
The darkness inside
That gives way to the light,
That shines from within us,
Like moonlight slowly caressing
The earth,
Consoling it,
To not fear the darkness
Of space.

We awaken then
To realize,
What we hold within us,
The energy,
The positivity,
To overcome,
To strive forward
And move on the path
That would lead
Simple beings like us
To *greatness...

It's the awkwardness and strangeness and
slugging-in-time-ness
of discovering a new
person.
Too often, movies portray the meeting of the
protagonists as some
heady rush or a
whirlwind of sparks or some
******* like that.
In reality, it's a slow fire
laboriously
begun with two
sticks.

And sometimes that fire never even starts.

√1 x √ 1 = 1
Root one, never felt like a full piece, never one,
Root one, met another number so alike in style,
Their common interest multiplied and became one,
And that was when they both let out their first smile.

When other numbers counted the bees and the birds,
Root one and root one counted fractions and surds,
In hopes that no one ever knew or ever heard,
They spoke of words like how absurd was the word surd.

Root one who never felt more whole than anyone,
Finally found another soul to make him a whole one.
No need for imaginary numbers of root negative ones,
Because Root One found a positive match, Root One.

So as night approaches,
Root one and Root one now a real number
Surrounded by the petal of roses,
Fell into one another arms to slumber.

Night and day comes to an inevitable close,
Root one and Root one became a complete whole,
This simply goes to shows,
That you don't have to be without flaws to find another soul.

--------
√1 = 1
In another universe, root one was happy being root one,
Because root one found the one within himself, root one.
They say one is a lonely number, so a root one,
Must be the loneliest number with no need for anyone else to be one,
Living a sordid life of loneliness, no other numbers left to join,
And at the flip or toss of a coin,
He will remain a never used piece of conversation,
But this poem must come to a close, no point in elongation,
Root one is a lonely number with no one to root,
But his own self, what a lonely shoot....

He made me glow like
the moon. He made me
bloom like the flowers
of spring. But most of
all he made the
butterflies
cocooned in
me break
free* ~

He never showed up..!!
The special night got ruined,
Devastated..ohh..what he knew
The tenderness of a girl's heart..
That he simply shattered..
Into a thousand pieces and one
All those that had always belonged to him
Years of smiles turned into vacant expressions
Moments she cherished seemed nothing
but hollow promises and hurting kisses
But now the world had come to standstill
How easily do we trust jerks, she thought
Cried, lamented the entire way home,
Blamed her stupidity, her fate, her gods,
She felt so abortive, so worthless, so empty
Couldn't stand betrayal of the love she believed in
She had known the reality of life, the harsh way
The only little thing that remained unknown
Was the hospital where his heart kept beating..
Still kept beating..i..love..you..i..love..you...

There has never been a time
There has never been a moment
Everything you know and feel
Came from someone else’s torment

Until you felt your own

They taught you  to feel their own
It was everything they believed
Only a newborn baby
And yet it was you who was deceived

Because they did not know

They did not know you
But you drew their love near
You couldn’t speak of it
While they read rhyme mask fears

Fears that could only smile

The is no enhancement of consciousness
Without the removal of nails from your mind
The release of the self by empathy
Is a butterfly that no longer wears a sign

A sign that is not of its own making

Ripping off its eylids
No matter the sun
Killing the prince
For love is no Machiavellian

Cynicism is grief of a clever sort

No hallucination from mother’s breast
No sense of urgency for rejecting truth
Unaffected by life is an impossibility
Until foolishness becomes a strength of youth

Because foolishness is sincerity naked

Falling our entire life
But never released by gravity
A scream of expectation
The treachery is the lack of humanity

They talk freedom but who can live with it?

It’s in how I choose to walk
It’s when I decide to smile
A flower from stone
Indifference from style

Which is it anyway?

And if I try to soon be who I am
I wonder if everyone I knew would leave
What I was seemed to be something to love
But if they only knew how it is that I grieve

It was not how I wanted it to be